


Left at Albuquerque

by Hopetohell



Category: Night Hunter (2018)
Genre: Car Sex, Face-Sitting, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:15:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26690515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: That gearshift has been lookingawfullyappealing. It’s either a bad idea, or the best idea you’ve had in a while.
Relationships: Walter Marshall (Night Hunter)/You
Kudos: 20





	Left at Albuquerque

He’s skeptical, of course, his _you’re gonna hurt yourself_ reflected in the tight press of his lips, in the tension he carries in his neck and back, in the way his gaze flicks from the gearshift knob to your face back to the knob and again to where you’re struggling out of your pants in the passenger seat. 

And if he swallows heavily, has to stop and gulp air for a moment midway through helping you throw a leg over onto his seat, well, it’s just concern. Definitely not anything else, definitely not a dark thrill at the pure hedonism of it. And the groan he makes? Definitely from the way your bare toes twist and dig uncomfortably into his groin as you settle into an awkward half-crouch, one knee down on the passenger seat and the toes on your opposite foot apparently trying to grip him through his jeans. It’s definitely _not_ from the way you rock against the knob, from the way you leave a slick sheen as you move because you came prepared. 

It’s definitely not from the way he watches the gearshift slip inside, from the way your thighs shake with the tension of holding yourself up because this is probably a bad idea, and those second thoughts creep in with their _careful_ and _why are we doing this again and what if you slip?_

But he’s leaning over to hold your thighs up with those big hands, to lift and lower you by fractions of inches and he’s a terrible liar because all that concern has been replaced totally by panting openmouthed want at the sight of the knob disappearing inside you, at the thought that anywhere he goes, he’ll get there by touching the ghost of this moment. And he’s careful, so careful, but his fingertips are trembling against your skin and if he stretches his fingers just so he can just brush your entrance, feel how you’re caught there. It punches a low groan out of him, one that’s accompanied by a flush that runs from his collar all the way up to his hairline. 

Did he?

Yeah, yeah he did, and there’s that sheepish half-grimace, like he almost can’t believe it. But in the space of half a dozen breaths he’s lifting you free, pulling you against him, fumbling for the seat back lever. Gets himself flat, and yeah you’ve got the idea. And it’s close quarters as it is, one palm pressed against the back window and legs crammed every which way as you lower yourself onto his face, as you grind hard down onto his beard, the hair rasping and tickling against you, as he pants openmouthed and licks up into your core. He might be saying something but you don’t know what, only that it must be good because every time you thrust down onto him his hands clutch at you to pull you down harder. 

And when you start to tremble from more than just exertion, he wraps his arms around you as best he can, pulls down with all his might as he eats up into you, humming and maybe crying, you can’t tell because you’re shaking apart above him. 

He’s trying for disapproval, but his face is open and wrecked when you slide down him, leaving a wet stain all down his chest. He’s breathing hard and you breathe with him, slowing by degrees as you laugh a little, sheepishly, _I can’t believe that just happened._


End file.
